The Saphenian
by Ariandir
Summary: 2 years after the 'Cyrga Affair', Sparhawk returns from Chyrellos to find old friends gathered again. News of Krager's return spurns hatred and a new sense of fear in Sparhawk's heart; clearly, his days of adventure are far from over...


Author's notes: Yup, I'm on to victimising David Eddings stuff now. Beware! *chuckles happily and plays a little trill on a set of many-chambered pipes that appeared out of nowhere in her hands*. Well now, moving on, it's pretty standard drill. Read it, listen to that little literacy critic who sits gathering dust in the back of your skull and then write down what he says in a review and send it to me. Praise, constructive criticism, suggestions, comments, ideas, requests, I live for and love them all...kasies - I think I've probably hinted outrageously enough for you to get the point. You're all bright intelligent people...*puzzled frown*...maybe excluding Kalten that is...*gives an impish little grin and vanishes*. 

A soft, silvery drizzle sifted down out of the night sky and wreathed around the blocky watchtowers of Cimmura, hissing in the torches on each side of the broad gate and making the stones of the road leading up to the gate shiny and black. A lone rider approached the city. He was wrapped in a heavy traveller's cloak and rode a tall, shaggy roan horse with a long nose and flat, vicious eyes. The traveller was a big man, a bigness of large, heavy bone and ropy tendon rather than of flesh. His hair was coarse and black, and at some time his nose had been broken. He rode easily but with the peculiar alertness of the trained warrior. 

The big roan shuddered absently, shaking the rain out of his shaggy coat as they approached the east gate of the city and stopped in the ruddy circle of torchlight just outside the wall. 

An unshaven gate guard in a rust-splotched breast plate and helmet and with a patched green cloak hanging negligently from one shoulder came out of the gate house to look inquiringly at the traveller. He was swaying slightly on his feet. 

'You always seem to come back in the rain, Prince Sparhawk.' the guard said in good-humoured accusation, his speech just a little slurred with cheap wine. 

'I think it's just God telling me how happy he is to see me back home again." Sparhawk replied. 

'Are you headed for the palace, or the chapterhouse, your Highness?' 

'The chapterhouse.' 

'Would you like me to send word ahead that you've arrived?' 

'No, but thanks all the same, neighbour.' 

Sparhawk gently began to nudge Faran forward, when he noticed the guard still standing there, with an expectant look on his face. 

'Was there something else?' Sparhawk asked curiously. 

The guard's expression became slightly crestfallen. 

'Isn't this normally the part where you lean over and hand me a coin and then tell me to go back inside, otherwise I'll catch a cold from standing out in the rain?' 

Sparhawk looked at the man for a moment, and then laughed. Fishing a small coin out from his saddlebag, he leaned out to the guard in his saddle, and placed the coin in his dirty palm. 

'Go back inside, neighbour. You'll catch a cold if you stand out here in the rain.' 

The guard smiled gratefully up at the big knight. 

'That better?' Sparhawk asked him. 

The man nodded. 

'Just for old times' sake, you understand, your Highness. Why break the habit of a lifetime?' 

And with that, he turned and walked back into the guard room, closing the saturated wooden door behind him with a dull thud. 

Sparhawk smiled as he tapped his heels against Faran's flanks and they started off again. It always felt good to be back home again, and his occasional visits to Archprelate Dolmant in Chyrellos were seldom of riveting interest. 

The Pandion chapterhouse loomed up through the rain like some huge sleeping giant on the other side of the east gate, it's stone faces awash with veils of rain water. Sparhawk frowned in bafflement as he saw that the drawbridge was still down. 

'Odd.' He muttered to Faran. 'They normally raise it after nightfall.' 

The big roan merely flicked his ears and plodded onward, not seeming all that bothered. 

A shadowy silhouette stood wreathed in misty drizzle on the drawbridge, waiting as Sparhawk slowly approached it. 

'You took your time!' Khalad grunted irritably, sniffing at the rain drop which quivered on the tip of his nose as the big knight reigned in. 

'I didn't realise there was a welcoming party expecting me.' Sparhawk replied simply. 'Have you been waiting out here long? You're soaked through.' 

'I'm young. I'll survive.' The burly young squired looked critically at Sparhawk's armour. 'That however, won't. I can see you haven't been cleaning the rust off.' 

Sparhawk shrugged apologetically. 

'Sorry. I've had other things on my mind recently.' 

'That's a lame excuse, Sparhawk and you know it. Let's get you inside. You won't be able to move if you stay out in this rain much longer.' 

Sparhawk smiled sadly as Khalad took Faran's reigns and absently dealt the huge roan a sharp tap on the nose as the horse tried to bite him. Even now, he still felt that pang of loss as he remembered Khalad's father, Kurik, his old squire and companion. The big knight sighed. It had been eight years now since the incident in Zemoch, since that seemingly unremarkable day when Sparhawk had returned from exile in Rendor to find his pale young queen gravely ill, sustained only by the diamond-like block of crystal that incased her. Sparhawk shook his head to clear his mind of the poignant memories. Those days were far behind him now. 

'Do you want to sit here and rust, or what?' Khalad's gruff tone rasped away Sparhawk's faint veils of memories 

Sparhawk smiled apologetically at his squire. 

'Sorry. I just got a little lost in thought.' 

Khalad made an indelicate sound. 

'You want to be careful there, Sparhawk. If you start getting too lost in thought, we might never find you again.' 

'Be nice.' 

Wet weather had never bothered Sparhawk much, but he wasn't getting any younger, and rain tended to make his joints ache nowadays. 

Khalad left him to change out of his armour and then go up to join him in the study. 

A chamber had been prepared for him in advance to his arrival. There were fresh clothes laid over the back of a chair, the sheets on the cot were clean and the fire that crackled in the hearth filled the room with the warming fragrance of apple-wood smoke. 

Sparhawk smiled and then gratefully removed his armour and pulled on the new clothes. They were soft and supple against his rough, damp skin. Unfortunately though, the unmistakable stench of his armour clung stubbornly to his body, and from what Khalad had told him, the 'visitors' up in the study were anxious to see him, leaving him no time to bathe before meeting them. Sparhawk muttered a nochalant oath, and walked over to the fireplace to briefly warm his hands. 

'There's no need to use language like that Sparhawk. You'll have plenty of time for a bath afterwards.' 

Sparhawk whirled round in alarm. The speaker sat cross-legged on the cot on the far side of the room, her long black hair gleaming in the firelight, her rude many-chambered pipes poised at her lips and her feet, as always, green and grass-stained. 

Flute gave Sparhawk an impish little grin and blew a fluttering trill on her pipes before sliding off the bed, swarming up into his arms and covering his battered face with kisses. 

'Welcome home, Sparhawk! Mother and I have missed you dreadfully. She's been quite unbearable for the last few days. I think you'd better have a word with Dolmant - for the sake of your health and his.' 

'I'll see what I can do.' Sparhawk promised. 'What's this about visitors, Aphrael? You haven't been tampering again, have you?' 

The Styric Child-goddess feigned an expression of wide-eyed innocence. 

'Would I do that?' 

'Do you want me to answer that?' 

'No, not really. There are some things that have been happening here in Elenia while you've been away, and I thought it might be for the best if I gathered together a few old friends - just as a precaution you understand.' 

'Of course. Would I ever doubt your word, dearest Aphrael?' 

Flute threw Sparhawk a venomous glare. 

'You have an overly-clever mouth, Sparhawk.' 

'I know, but you love me anyway, don't you?' 

Flute stuck her tongue out at him, and promptly vanished. 

Some of the faces he saw in the study didn't surprise Sparhawk at all, but others were a complete shock. 

'Sparhawk!' Ehlana cried, running to her husband's arms and fiercely embracing him. 

Sparhawk's eyes immediately focused over his enthusiastic wife's shoulder at Tynian who was shaking with uncontrollable laughter and both pointing at Kalten, who smiling beatifically sat with his boots up on the table. Sparhawk narrowed his eyes and mouth something rather uncomplimentary at his boyhood friend. 

'Her majesty was just so anxious to see her champion again that I brought her down here to greet you upon return from your noble quest in the name of our Holy Mother.' The big blonde Pandion grinned. 

'Shut up Kalten.' 

'Yes, oh Noble Prince Consort.' 

Vanion rose from his chair, and Sparhawk was very grateful to him when the auburn-haired man delicately provided a cause for Ehlana to detach her arms from around Sparhawk's neck. 

'Welcome home, old friend.' Vanion smiled warmly, clasping Sparhawk's large hand in his. 

Sparhawk still found it strange to look into the rejuvenated face of his old Preceptor. Two years ago, Vanion had been an aged man in his sixties with silver-grey hair and a face beginning to line with wisdom and fatigue, but when he had married Sephrenia, Bhelliom's parting gift at the ceremony had to been to peal away the layers of the years, leaving them both youthful and invigorated. It was like looking into the face of a memory - Vanion had already begun to lose his glorious auburn colour when Kalten and Sparhawk had just entered their noviciate. 

'I trust your journey was quite safe and uninterrupted?' The redheaded Elene enquired. 

'Surprisingly enough.' Sparhawk smiled. 

'Amazing! I didn't think you were capable of embarking on an uneventful trip!' 

Talen sat lounging coolly in one of the chairs at the table, his expression smooth and calm. The young thief was now 17, and fully two heads taller now than his mothers. 

'Hullo Talen.' Sparhawk greeted him. He suppressed a grin as he saw that his daughter, Danae, was seated securely in Talen's lap, the youth's arms holding her warmly to his chest. The 8-year-old Princess wore a pert, smug little smile as she rested her raven-haired head against Talen's shoulder, signalling that the child was as adamant as ever in continuing with her campaign, although it was quite clear from the way he held her, that all hope had vanished for the crowned prince of thieves. 

'How's your training going?' Sparhawk asked. 

Talen grimaced and pushed up his doublet sleeve to reveal a fairly impressive-looking bruise. 

'I don't know what's in those corinals you knights tip your lances with, but they seem to have the effect of changing the colour of my skin.' 

'He's been going all sorts of interesting colours on his arms and shoulders recently.' Kalten chuckled. 

Sparhawk smiled, and looked around the room at the other figures whose forms flickered in the ruddy firelight. Atana Mirtai, Ehlana's bodyguard, stood centurian-like by the fireplace, her fierce array of blades gleaming coldly against her flawless golden skin. Sephrenia, High Priestess of the Styric Goddess Aphrael sat in a chair next to Vanion's, her ever-present teacup, as always, clasped in her hand. Tynian, a cheerful, talkative, moon-faced Alcione knight, Ulath, a huge, blonde Genidian knight and Bevier, a devout, handsome, olive-skinned Cyrinic knight were positioned around the table, with goblets of Arcian red set before them. Kalten's fiancé, a gentle, doe-eyed lady-in-waiting named Alean sat quietly beside Sparhawk's boyhood friend, concentrating on the square of white cloth she was embroidering. 

'Well, I think that's everyone.' Flute, characteristically, materialised out of nowhere, sitting cross-legged on the centre of the table, and making everyone start. 

'Please try to warn us before you do that, Divine One. It's very unnerving to have you just appear like that.' Despite his shaken tone, Bevier was smiling. 

The child-goddess rose, crossed over to the Cyrinic knight on her grass-stained little feet, fondly placed a kiss on his cheek and then took up her chosen position in his lap. 

'Right then, gentlemen.' She assumed her usual businesslike manor. 'Let's get down to the matters in hand.' 

'Wait a moment!' Kalten interrupted. 'Where's Berit?' 

Aphrael looked around the room for a few seconds, and then pouted. 

'Oh bother! I completely forgot about him.' 

'He's going to be very hurt when he hears that.' 

Aphrael sighed. 

'Oh well. I suppose just have to wait until he gets here.' 

'Just so we know, what to expect,' Talen asked. 'what _was_ the gist of this discussion?' 

Flute gave him a startled look. 

'I would have thought of all people, Talen, you would have been one of the first to know!' 

'Why? What is it?' Despite himself, Sparhawk got the distinct feeling that he wasn't going to like the answer. 

Aphrael sighed. 

'Brace yourselves, gentlemen.' She said. 'Krager's back.' 


End file.
